


Takashi Shirogane and the Goblet of Fire

by bombshells



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Slow Burn, cute little hogwarts au, lotor eats his feelings, mentions of parental abuse, rival dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 05:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18131474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombshells/pseuds/bombshells
Summary: It's Shiro's final year at Hogwarts, and the Boy Who Lived intends to take it easy and stay out of the spotlight this time around- that is, until a certain silver-haired student from Beauxbatons Academy arrives and changes everything.





	1. King's Cross

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yaknownyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaknownyan/gifts).



“Hurry, Takashi, you’re going to be late!” came the huffed, breathy voice of the grandfather of one Takashi Shirogane as they jogged across the King’s Cross station parking lot.

Takashi –or, as he was commonly known, Shiro- sighed as he kept the pace. His grandfather was definitely overstating it; they were nowhere near late for the train. Yuuto Shirogane was a punctual person, especially after one such incident of lateness had resulted in Shiro and his friend Keith taking a flying car to school instead.

Still, about to begin his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft at Wizardry, Shiro thought he was rather too old and wise to repeat such shenanigans. At least, he thought he was. He wouldn’t mind another chance at piloting that car, nerve-wracking as it was.

Together, Shiro and his grandfather flew through the station, trying to find Platform 9 so they could pull their little…trick. Grandfather stopped at the platform barrier, wringing his hands and looking around.

“I always hate this part, you know I do,” worried Grandfather. “What if it’s the wrong barrier? What if somebody sees?”

“Don’t worry, Grandfather,” Shiro reassured him. “We do this every year, remember?”

“You wizards with your strange passages,” he grumbled. “Why couldn’t you just use a normal platform?”

Shiro grinned and positioned his trolley, filled with luggage and the long, lean shape of his broom, the _Black Lion,_ towards the barrier labeled Platform 9. Pushing himself into a run, he rushed forward, closing his eyes, about to collide with the barrier- except he emerged on the opposite side, on platform nine and three quarters. Moments later, his grandfather emerged as well, looking winded, leaning heavily on his cane.

“These damnable magical thingamabobs,” he said, regaining his breath. “It’s a good thing this is the last year I have to put up with this platform nonsense.”

Shiro swallowed a laugh, and a bittersweet one at that. Watching him, he reminded himself that his Muggle grandfather had multiple reasons to dislike magic, all of them justified. He tamped down on the small twinge of guilt at the thought.

“Mr. Shirogane! Shiro!” came a familiar voice, and Shiro turned around.

“Keith!” Shiro said, grinning and waving him over.

Keith maneuvered through the crowds of people, trying not to push his trolley over his giant ghost dog, Kosmo, who loped before him, clearing the way. Right behind him was the familiar striking figure of his mother, Krolia, with a good-natured smile on her face.

He and Keith hugged, before they were assaulted by Kosmo’s onslaught of slobbers; meanwhile, Krolia kept a polite conversation with Shiro’s grandfather. Shiro and Keith had been best friends since first year; over the summer they kept up correspondence, and they often spent at least a section of it together. It was always fun when Keith came to stay with them in London- Keith had grown up in wizard society, and had no idea how Muggles worked, which was always hilarious to see- but Shiro loved spending time at Keith’s the most. Their house was always crazy, bustling with strange magical objects and action, due to Krolia’s employment as an Auror, and Keith and Kosmo’s own…escapades. That was not to mention that Krolia’s house was the main headquarters of the Blade of Marmora, a secret organization dedicated to defeating the dreaded Lord Voldemort- Shiro’s sworn enemy.

Even as he and Keith caught up together on the platform, Shiro could feel the all-too-familiar stares and whispers of people as they passed them, their eyes lingering on the white shock of hair flopping in front of Shiro’s forehead, and the characteristic, ever-famous scar running across his nose and cheeks.

“See that? It’s the Boy Who Lived!”

The Boy Who Lived indeed. As always, Shiro felt uncomfortable with the awe. Shiro hadn’t really _done_ much to warrant the title, after all. He’d earned it when he was barely a year old, when Lord Voldemort had broken into his parents’ house and murdered them- and yet, for some reason, failed to murder him as well. He’d vanished that night, leaving nothing but a crying, orphaned baby with a scar.

Nobody had ever survived the Killing Curse before. Hell, nobody had ever survived _Voldemort_ before. So, understandably, Shiro had his share of fame.

It didn’t help that every year, without fail, the Dark Lord would attempt some kind of rise to power, and that every year, without fail, Shiro would –accidentally or not- thwart him. Now Voldemort was after his life, which meant it was imperative that Shiro remain at Hogwarts, where he was safe and protected by the Blade of Marmora and the Ministry of Magic alike.

The train whistled; it was time for Keith and Shiro to say goodbye. Keith and Krolia drifted off with Kosmo to have a moment in private; Shiro clasped his grandfather in a tight hug.

“You’ve grown strong, boy,” said Grandfather, patting him on the back. He smelled like old-timey cologne and crushed tea leaves. He drew back from the hug, holding Shiro at arm’s length, looking up to carefully watch his face, smiling endearingly. “You’ve gotten so big. You’re Natsuo’s spitting image.”

Natsuo Shirogane had been, of course, Shiro’s father. Shiro smiled back at his grandfather. He didn’t know where this wave of sentimentality had come from, but he welcomed it; he wouldn’t be seeing his grandfather for a while.

“Now, Takashi,” began Grandfather. “For your folk, seventeen is the age of adulthood, isn’t it? And with adulthood, comes responsibility.” He paused, and sighed. “There is one responsibility I ask of you, before you go.”

“Of course, Grandfather,” Shiro said obligingly. “What is it?”

“I ask you to be responsible for yourself,” Grandfather said earnestly. “Come back to me alive and whole. No more…adventures. Not like before. Just have a normal school year- your last school year- and come back to me.” He patted his shoulder. “Don’t let my heart be broken again, my boy.”

Shiro’s conscience twinged again. He had been too young to remember when his grandfather had been still been grieving his son and daughter-in-law, but he could imagine how besides himself he must have been. He wouldn’t allow himself to put his grandfather in that position again.

“Alright,” said Shiro, gazing into the old, familiar lines of his grandfather’s face. “I promise I’ll stay out of trouble. Really, this time.”

Grandfather smiled resignedly. “Of course. Take care, Takashi.” The train whistled again. “Now quit dawdling and catch your train, silly boy!”

Shiro laughed and ran to catch the train, loading his luggage before going inside to find whichever compartment Keith and Kosmo would’ve commandeered. After maneuvering his way through the chaotic corridors, he finally found Keith and Kosmo, who’d been joined by another of their friends, Matt Holt.

He gave him a wide grin as he entered the compartment.

“There he is,” he said, winking. “Had a nice summer, Shiro?”

“Nice enough,” Shiro replied, putting his luggage up on the rack. “Sad it’s over, though. This is it- our last first day of school.”

“Finally,” Matt said, stretching out across one couch and forcing Shiro to squeeze in next to Keith and Kosmo. “I’m tired of school. I mean, I love Hogwarts, but I’m itching to get into the real world already. The Department of Muggle Artifacts won’t know _what_ hit them. What about you, Keith?”

“Just because you violated the blood pact doesn’t mean everyone else did,” Keith said wryly, scratching Kosmo under the ears. “It’s the same thing I’ve wanted since first year. I’m going to be an Auror.”

“You’d make a pretty good one,” Shiro said. “No doubt about that.”

“Thanks,” Keith said. “I-” his voice stopped short as a figure appeared in the doorway, and he colored.

Shiro turned to look at who it was as the compartment door squeezed open.

“Oh, hey, guys,” their friend Hunk said as he poked his head in. “Say, have you seen Pidge’s Pygmy Puffs?  They were spooked by the train ride and now we can’t find them anywhere.”

“I’m sure she’ll find them sometime,” Matt said offhandedly, looking away. He was notoriously allergic to anything furry, and strongly disliked his younger sister’s pets. The only thing that didn’t seem to aggravate him was Kosmo, but that was because Kosmo wasn’t really made of actual hair.

“I’m afraid they’ll get gobbled up by some cat or something- those things are defenseless,” Hunk worried, wringing his hands. His warm brown eyes found Keith. “Keith, you’re a Seeker on the team, right? Could you and Kosmo help me find them before someone steps on them?”

Keith colored again, then scowled. “Uh, sure. I guess. Okay. Come on, Kosmo.”

He got up to follow Hunk out. Shiro and Matt exchanged a knowing look.

“How’s he gonna be an Auror if he’s so transparent?” Matt wondered aloud.

Shiro chortled. “Go easy on him, man.” He sighed. “I hope I never get like that when I’ve got a crush.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we’ll see. From what I’ve heard, we’re having some foreign guests over this year.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just something I overheard my mom talking about,” Matt said. His mother was professor of Herbology at Hogwarts. “She mentioned something that had to do with the Department of International Magic Cooperation.”

“Interesting,” Shiro said. He tried to tamp it down, but he was already getting curious. It seemed his last year at Hogwarts wouldn’t be so typical after all.

\---

Shiro got his answer soon enough.

That night, at the Welcoming Feast, right after the Sorting had ended, they all sat down at their House tables, waiting patiently for the headmaster, Professor Kolivan, to begin his speech.

Lance, fellow Gryffindor, a sixth year, tapped his fingers impatiently against the wood of the table. “What are they waiting for? We’re starving.”

Eventually, the professors filed in, taking their seats at the head of the Hall. Finally, Professor Kolivan came to the podium and called for attention. The Hallwent silent.

“Students of Hogwarts,” Kolivan said, his face ever stern. “I welcome you back to another academic year. Before we begin to eat –” several people groaned under their breaths –“I would like to make a few announcements. The caretaker would like to remind older students and inform our newest additions that Bogey Blasters, Fanged Frisbees, and joke items of the like are forbidden in the hallways. He would also like to say that any…innovations…” he cast a meaningful look at the Ravenclaw table, where Matt and Pidge innocently twiddled their thumbs, “…are to be submitted to the headmaster’s office for review before being put to use. I would also like to state that the Forbidden Forest is, as always, is out-of-bounds to students, unless they are accompanied by a teacher. Now, for the final announcement – a great treat and honor to Hogwarts School, as you shall now understand.”

“Beginning from this October, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament. It is a championship first established seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest schools of magic in Europe: Durmstrang Institute, Beauxbatons Academy, and, of course, Hogwarts School. A champion is selected to represent each school, and the three champions are to complete three magical tasks. The schools would take turns in hosting the tournament every five years- it was a good way to build friendships with young wizards and witches across borders. However, it was recently discontinued due to a few unfortunate casualties.

“However, after much review of the rules by the Department of Magical Games and Sports and the Department of International Magical Cooperation, we have decided to hold the Tournament once more. The heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will be arriving with their candidates in October to participate, and an impartial judge, whom I will introduce shortly, will select the most worthy candidates from each school. The prize for winning the Tournament will be the Triwizard Cup, glory for their school, and a most handsome reward of a thousand Galleons.

“However, for safety reasons, I will have you know that there is an age limit set on the participants in the Tournament. Nobody below the age of seventeen may enter.” At the loud sounds of protest chorusing from around the Great Hall, Kolivan continued. “This is a necessary measure to ensure the safety of all participants involved, as the tasks are deeply dangerous and need an advanced understanding of magic. Tricks to get in are discouraged, and will be discovered, I assure you. Now, the delegations from our fellow schools will be arriving in October, as I previously stated. It is expected that you extend every courtesy to our guests when they arrive. Now, it is late, and I encourage all students to eat well and then to get their rest before lessons start tomorrow morning. Good night.”

And with that, the Great Hall exploded into noise as people discussed the recent excitement, and tucked into the food that had appeared on the tables.

“It’s only a few months  until I’m seventeen!” Lance complained loudly, after the plates had been cleared. “I’m getting in, I don’t care _what_ Kolivan says.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You think Kolivan isn’t prepared for people like you?”

Lance set his jaw determinedly. “Just you wait. Pidge and I will figure something out.”

Acxa, another Gryffindor friend of theirs, looked at him unimpressedly before getting up. “Come on, then, hotshot,” she said, tapping his prefect’s badge. “We have to take the first years up to the dorms.”

Together they went on their way, Lance still voicing his dissent to anyone who could hear him.

“What about you, Shiro?” Keith turned to him questioningly. “Are you going to put your name in?”

To tell the truth, Shiro itched to. It sounded thrilling, adventurous…and yet he remembered his promise to his grandfather at King’s Cross, and the six years he’d had of excitement already.

“Nah,” he said, getting up and brushing his robes off. “I’m happy to just watch. Now let’s go, I’m exhausted.”

 


	2. Commencement

Lotor truly did not comprehend the reason behind Allura’s wonder at the Scottish countryside.

“Look! A pumpkin!” she pointed excitedly, grabbing his arm. “And look, there’s another one, isn’t it absolutely darling?”

“Allura, you hate pumpkin,” Lotor deadpanned as he watched them fly above a pumpkin patch.

“On the gastronomical level, maybe,” she said, adjusting her light blue hat. “Aesthetically, though, I’d rank it at the top of my Cutest Vegetables list. Right after aubergines.”

Of course Allura had a Cutest Vegetables list. Lotor did not have the heart to tell her that, botanically speaking, pumpkins and aubergines were both technically fruits.

Across from them, Coran craned his head to look out of the window. “Oh, and would you look at that. See that dark shape on the horizon? That’s Hogwarts!”

Allura trod on his feet as she stretched to get a look. “Oh, it is! How exciting! Lotor, look!”

“I can see quite well, thanks,” he declined, sinking further down in his seat, as much as straight-backed posture would allow. He snuck a look to the other side of the carriage, where the looming, dark figure of his father was engaged in a deep conversation with Professor Dayak. Making a fool of himself right now was something he could not afford by any means.

“You are aware that it is Takashi Shirogane’s seventh year as well?” Dayak mused, drumming an acrylic nail against the armrest. “I wonder if the Boy Who Lived shall compete.”

“He is bound to,” rumbled the deep, rough voice of Zarkon de Daibazaal. “The little pest loves attention and excitement, from what I have seen.”

“Hm. Resourceful one, that boy, if the papers are correct. If he is chosen, our champion will have to be of a special mettle.”

“Nonsense,” Zarkon dismissed with a wave of his hand, scarred face settling into its familiar scowl. His eyes roamed the carriage, and found Lotor, who swiftly averted his gaze. Still, Lotor could feel his father’s eyes on him as he spoke again, as if to him directly. “He is what he is: a _boy._ It will be a disgrace if Beauxbatons are defeated again this year. I simply shall not allow it.”

Lotor neither knew nor cared about the reason behind his father’s deep hatred of the Boy Who Lived, but he was well aware of Zarkon’s competitive streak, and did well to avoid his ire as a result. He hoped, with all he had, that the Goblet of Fire would not choose him, and that the impossible task of pleasing Professor Zarkon de Daibazaal would fall upon someone else’s shoulders for once.

It was true that Lotor had, briefly, in his first few years at Beauxbatons, harbored a slight crush on the celebrated Shirogane. What kind of child of their generation didn’t? He remembered, with embarrassment, the _Daily Prophet_ articles stowed under his bed- still there, somewhere, at the de Daibazaal manor- and the way he’d gushed about Shirogane’s exploits to anyone who would listen. He’d been rather enamored, but he’d grown out of it eventually- especially when his father had begun to notice.

“-Lotor? Lotor?” Allura’s voice broke him out of his reverie. “Are you listening?”

“Sorry, I missed what you said,” he apologized, shaking his head. He was about to meet the famous Boy Who Lived, one way or another. It would do nobody any favors if he kept reminiscing about his boyhood crush. “What were you saying?”

“I said we’re about to land,” she said, bright blue eyes sparkling. “Look- the students have assembled to greet us. What funny black cloaks! Nothing like our lovely tailored blue robes.”

“I’m sure theirs are more practical,” Lotor said distractedly.

“They must be tripping over them all of the time,” Allura said. “Oh, and they have different colored ties for their Houses! How _adorable,_ which House do you think I’d be in-”

 _House Chatterbox,_ he thought with a touch of fondness as he watched her gush. Allura had been his friend since childhood, both of them coming from old pureblood families, both of them rising together among the student body of Beauxbatons Academy. At this point in his life, she was probably his only friend.

He was well aware that she was trying to get him excited about the fact that he’d be spending his last year of school at Hogwarts, rather than in deep study at Beauxbatons. His father had twisted his arm into coming, and Lotor had voiced his distaste of it to her many, many times. Lotor was a person who disliked excitement- especially after the Incident.

The golden pegasi drawing their carriage folded their wings and began their descent. Coran and Allura laughed as the carriage jolted its passengers into disarray as they finally landed. Lotor could hear loud applause sounding from outside of the carriages.

“Here goes!” Allura said, springing up with Coran and straightening her robes and hat. “First impressions are everything. Meet you outside?”

“Sure,” Lotor said stoically, and got up, patting out the wrinkles in his own clothes from the long journey. The carriage became suddenly crowded as all of its passengers assembled at the door to get out. None too excited to meet the Hogwarts students, Lotor hung back at the end of the line, making sure his wand was tucked safely into his pocket.

Slowly, the people filed out of the carriage, and the line moved forward. Lotor was about to make his own descent when he felt a fist tighten around his elbow. Involuntarily, his heart began to race.

“I don’t need to remind you,” he heard his father quietly say, “not to embarrass us this year.”

“Of course,” Lotor forced out.

“As fate would have it, and as I constantly remind you, you are the sole heir to the de Daibazaal estate. That means, that during this trip, you are representing not only your school, but your entire family line. You are also representing me.” The hand tightened further. “Do not fail. Not again.”

Lotor swallowed. “Yes, Father.”

His elbow was released, and Lotor was left to go down the steps and into the autumn sunlight. He hated the way his hands shook.

 _The Goblet won’t choose you,_ he told himself. _He’ll get off your case after that._

Goblet or not, he was in for one very uncomfortable year.

 

* * *

 

Shiro hadn’t gotten one good look at the Beauxbatons students. Neither did he manage to see the Durmstrang ones, either. The crowd had been so thick near the Great Lawn that all he’d managed to glimpse were the light, shimmery blue uniforms of the former and rough, dark red of those of the latter.

All was not lost, however. The Hogwarts students were all corralled into the Great Hall for supper; that was when the foreign students would make their grand entrance, and everyone would get to see them for real. Shiro was burning with curiosity as to what they would do.

A large whistling sound went through the Great Hall; the chattering of the students went silent. Professor Kolivan went to the front of the Hall, and raised his hands to begin his speech.

“Good evening, all, and welcome to our commencement feast,” Professor Kolivan began, in his rumbling voice. “I have great pleasure in introducing our guests, from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Please, first, welcome Professor Zarkon de Daibazaal and the students of Beauxbatons Academy!”

The doors to the Great Hall opened, and a large, broad-shouldered man strode in, long cape billowing behind him. His face was distinctly intimidating, set in a deep, stern scowl, one scar running down from his eyebrow to the bottom of his cheek, gray hair cropped close to his head. He resembled a military general more than he resembled a headmaster.

Behind him followed a queue of students dressed in neat, tailored blue robes, each of them with their wands out, performing some kind of fancy charm. The two at the front had conjured Patronuses- one a swan, and the other what looked like magpie.

For some reason, Shiro couldn’t get his eyes off of them –off of the boy in particular. He was tall and willowy, with brown skin and the most curious platinum white hair, long and flowing. His expression was haughty and unaffected, yet off-puttingly beautiful. Next to him, the girl looked much friendlier, but still a bit smug; she, too, was stunningly beautiful, with flowing white curls and sparkling blue eyes. He couldn’t stop staring.

Keith snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Hey, cut it out,” he said, frowning. “They’re working their magic on you.”

“Their what?”

“You’re staring at the kids with white hair,” Keith said.

“No, I’m-”

“It’s obvious,” Keith interrupted him impatiently. “It’s natural to do it- they’re Veela.”

“Veela?” Lance said, eyes following the white-haired pair as well.

“Yeah, those illusionists who dance and sing and make people fall in love with them,” Keith explained. “We learned about them in Defense Against the Dark Arts last year, remember?”

“I didn’t know Beauxbatons accepted non-humans,” Shiro said, still a little bit dazed. He wasn’t the only one. Acxa’s mouth was ajar as she openly stared at the white-haired girl, eyes unfocused, and all around the Hall, students’ eyes tracked the two, hinging on their every movement.

“They are human. Those two are only half-Veela,” explained Keith. “See that stuck-up one? The one with the little hair antenna? That’s Lotor de Daibazaal. The headmaster’s son. The girl is Allura d’Altea. Her father, Alfor, is the French Minister for Magic.”

“Huh,” Shiro said. He seemed to have a very hard time taking his eyes off of the Veela, Lotor in particular. He watched as the Beauxbatons students neatly filed down and sat at the Ravenclaw table. “How come you know so much?” Keith had never been one for gossip.

“My mom keeps a close eye on the de Daibazaals. She has a lot of doubts about them because-”

His speech was cut off by the arrival of the Durmstrang students, along with their headmistress, Professor Ladnok. They stopped talking to stare. Whereas the Beauxbatons’ magic was colorful and graceful, the Durmstrangs’ magic was powerful and domineering- all of them conjured great fiery phoenixes to fly above the Hogwarts’ students heads, showering everyone with cinders.

After the applause died down, the Durmstrang students went and sat down at the Slytherin table. For some reason, Shiro was oddly uncomfortable with them, especially with what looked like a burly seventh year, who had a leather eyepatch covering one of his eyes. His remaining eye remained fixed on Shiro with a kind of startling hostility, and Shiro forced himself to look away.

The food appeared on the table and the drinks appeared in their goblets; students, regardless of school, tucked in. There was a great deal of excitement involved; the new students were plagued by questions from all sides. Most of the Durmstrangs looked rather uncomfortable with the attention, gruffly focusing on their food, but the Beauxbatons students shone in the spotlight. One person in particular was enjoying it- Allura, the half-Veela girl, who was currently engaged in a conversation with Pidge and Matt. Next to her, Lotor remained with a higher-than-thou expression on his face, picking at his food and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Shiro found that he disliked him.

At the end of the meal, Professor Kolivan called everyone to order again. “Now that we have all eaten and drunk, I would like to finally bestow the ultimate spectacle for tonight- the Goblet of Fire.”

The Hall’s doors opened again, and several teachers walked in, all of them performing a massive levitating charm on a large, wrought-iron goblet the size of a dinner plate. With a bit of a heave, the teachers set it in the middle of the Hall, right between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, and then went to their seats.

Kolivan began to speak again as he approached it. “Now, we are all familiar with the nature of the Goblet, but I shall explain again. Candidates who wish to participate in the Triwizard Tournament must drop a slip of paper with their names written on them into the Goblet of Fire before the end of this week. After that, the Goblet of Fire will select three champions: one from Hogwarts, one from Beauxbatons, and one from Durmstrang. However, I must remind you all that only students above the age of seventeen will be allowed to enter the tournament. As such-” Kolivan waved his wand, and a circle burned itself around the Goblet-“I have drawn an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire to ensure no…mishaps, take place.”

Pidge and Lance sent each other conspiratorial looks across the hall.

“Now-” Kolivan murmured a long string of complex magic, and, in a blaze of blue fire, the Goblet lit itself alight. The hall was full of _oohs_ and _ahhs_ as students marveled at the sight.

“I wish any prospective Champions the best of luck. It is time for us to give our guests some time to rest. Good competition, and good night!”

There were a lot of scraping sounds and an explosion of noise as students got up and made for the Great Hall’s doors, ready to retire to the dormitories. Shiro went along with them, Keith right behind him, before he remembered he’d left his wand –as usual- on the table.

“I need to go get my wand,” he told Keith, and promptly turned around- slamming into a Beauxbatons student and nearly knocking him off his feet.

Shiro grabbed the guy’s hand to steady him, apologizing. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there-”

The guy snatched his arm away, and Shiro got a good look at him- it was Lotor de Daibazaal, the headmaster’s half-Veela son. He shoved past Shiro, looking irritated.

“Out of my way,” he spat out with a slight accent. He paused as he registered who Shiro was, before dragging his eyes over him like he was the most annoying creature to step on the Earth. He made a little judgmental sound in the back of his throat, and then turned around and left with the rest of the students.

“What’s _his_ problem?” Shiro said, offended.

“Oh, forget him,” Keith said, looking venomous. “He’s a prissy rich kid. One of those old pureblood families. He hates you for a reason. Remember why I said my mom didn’t like them? His dad was a former Death Eater. I’d keep my distance, if I were you.”

Shiro frowned as he watched the distinctive white hair disappear into the crowd. _I’ll keep my distance, alright._


	3. The Goblet of Fire

Keith was usually right, which was why, over the next couple of days, Shiro steered clear of Lotor de Daibazaal. It proved difficult, unfortunately; the Beauxbatons students had been scheduled to take most of their classes alongside Ravenclaw- who happened to take most of _their_ classes with Gryffindor.

Still, Shiro managed it. At least, at first. But soon it turned out that sharing classes with Lotor meant that there would be…abrasions.

He apparently more than made up for his attitude with his grades. Begrudgingly, Shiro had to admit that the Beauxbatons boy was wickedly smart. He began to outshine everyone else in classes; in Potions he’d be the first one to complete their assignments; in History of Magic, he actually kept up with the lecture, and, worst of all, he began to show a particular knack for Shiro’s own favorite subject –Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Shiro wasn’t petty. He really wasn’t. He wasn’t one to get territorial about things like this. But eventually, something began bothering him, nagging at him, when Lotor began stealing his spot for the umpteenth time. Something about the way his hand shot up in the air, the way his hair caught the dusty candlelight, about his posh, superior accent as he proved he was the best at everything, made Shiro tick.

The worst part was that Lotor seemed to be perfectly aware of what he was doing. When, during a class debate, (well, it hadn’t exactly been a class debate; Shiro and Lotor had been arguing the best way to dispel vengeful ghosts, and Professor Thace had been moderating) Lotor had, inevitably, won, he’d even sent a smug little smirk Shiro’s way as Professor Thace bade them to sit down.

Shiro’s blood boiled. And, of course, Keith, the human embodiment of a firecracker, was no help at all.

“That little worm,” Keith ranted as they left Transfiguration, on their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts once more. “If he starts acting all pompous again I’m going to sock him in his pretty little Death Eater face.”

“Tell me about it,” Shiro said, shifting his books. He had never been particularly into studying, but ever since the Beauxbatons students had arrived, he’d been putting more effort into it. For the NEWTs, of course. Not to show Lotor up. “He thinks he’s so smart.”

“He’s not that bad,” Acxa said calmly from next to them, shifting her feathery hair around in a compact mirror. “You guys are just jealous someone as good as you’s showed up.”

“He’s not _good,”_ Keith said. “I bet he cheats. To suck up to the teachers. His dad’s a headmaster, he knows how they tick. He’s not like Shiro, who works _hard_ for his grades.”

Something in Shiro flipped a little uncomfortably. Truth be told, before seventh year, Shiro hadn’t really tried really hard at studying at all- he’d been too busy with his shenanigans with Voldemort. The magic just came naturally to him. Now, however…

“Have you considered that he’s just _smart,_ and that you, my friends, are just upset he brushed you off at the Great Hall?” Acxa said wryly. She smiled at Shiro in that annoyingly knowing way of hers. “Can’t be easy on your ego to be rejected by a Veela, huh, hotshot?”

“I wasn’t _rejected,”_ Shiro said, offended. “I didn’t even- look, he was rude to me at the Great Hall, yes, but he’s annoying either way. I don’t care about what he thinks of me.”

“You’re one to talk, anyway,” Keith said scathingly. “You’re mooning after that Veela girl he’s with all the time, ever since she helped you when you dropped your books- Alana or Alluka or whatever-”

“Her name is _Allura,”_ Acxa said, blushing furiously, “and I am _not_ mooning after her!”

“Yeah, well-” Kosmo appeared out of thin air and began bombarding Keith with licks, ending the conversation. “Oh, come on, Kosmo, you know I’m not allowed to see you during classes-”

Keith managed to convince Kosmo to go play on the Great Lawn or something, and then they finally made it to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Allura had already amassed a wealth of admirers, and she held court in the back of the class, telling a story as all of the students around her chortled at her every word like fools. Lotor sat nearby, reading a book and looking generally annoyed with the noise.

Allura spotted Acxa coming in and waved at her daintily. Acxa, gaping, waved back, and actually –Shiro could not believe his eyes- _giggled._

She turned around to see Keith staring at her judgmentally. “Spit it out, Keith.”

“You are so, so, so sad.”

“She’s funny!”

“You didn’t even hear what she was saying!”

They bickered as Shiro found his usual desk and sat down, Keith sitting next to him and Acxa behind them.

Professor Thace came in, and the room fell silent; Allura’s gaggle of admirers dispersed. He started off where they’d left off last class, beginning to explain soul-transfer spells and other enchantments that had a nature of capturing the consciousness.

“The Ancient Egyptians had a concept of a tangible _ka,_ or soul, that could be ensnared through the use of a subject’s _true name,_ or _ren,_ ” Professor Thace explained. “They came close to the true theory, but now we know that there is actually a much deeper definition of the _ren,_ which we now call the identity, or consciousness. I won’t be explaining how to capture a person’s identity, and thus their soul- that is a banned topic here at Hogwarts, and of the worst dark magic, but what we _will_ be discussing is how to repel it, both for ourselves and for others unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of these curses. Now, who can tell me what exactly _happens_ when a dark wizard tries to harness someone’s soul?”

“They erase their identity?” Shiro said.

“Close, but not quite,” Thace said. _Damn it,_ Shiro thought. “Ah, yes, Mr. de Daibazaal?”

“They alter it, of course,” Lotor said, voice like silver. Shiro resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Separating the soul from the body by shocking it, and then changing the fabric of the soul itself to make it beholden to someone else’s will – in short, erasing only a _part_ of it.” He paused. “That is why it is impossible to ensnare someone who has been Kissed by a dementor.” His eyes slid to Shiro, a hint of challenge in them. “They have no identity at all.”

“Smug little fucker,” Keith muttered under his breath.

“That…is correct,” Thace said, looking a bit impressed. Shiro wanted to slam his head against the desk. “That is quite correct. Well said. Now, the customary way to combat such a curse is both similar to and different than the method of resisting the Imperius Curse we discussed previously. Both methods involve quite a bit of concentration, but with the Imperius Curse _,_ you’re concentrating on reinforcing your identity. In this case, you’re to completely erase it- at least, temporarily. That way your assailant has nothing to hold. Today we’ll be practicing these techniques- it’s harder to be _nothing at all_ than you would think- and, of course, I would never actually use this curse on you, even for practice, so the study will mostly be of theory. However-”

“Ah, Professor?” Lotor raised his hand again. “If I may.”

“Yes? You have a question?”

“I had thought that there had been, well, another method to repel this,” Lotor began. He spoke with cold confidence. “Wouldn’t be easier to create, say, a decoy soul? A soul that the enemy _thinks_ is yours, but would actually be a fake? It would take some complexity, but surely takes less time than-”

Thace laughed nervously.

“I’m sure I’m not understanding you correctly,” he said. “That’s, ah. That’s a bit of dark magic, Mr. de Daibazaal. You cannot _create_ a soul; that is a severe transgression of ethics, and it’s close to, er…other methods used by dark wizards to achieve their ends. Besides the moral implications, it would fail, see-” for some unknown reason, Thace’s eyes darted to Shiro, then away. “A body cannot hold more than one soul at a time.”

The mood had become oddly tense. The class began to whisper as Lotor looked for a moment at Thace, a strange expression on his face, as if he had heard something that everyone else hadn’t.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “I understand now.” He sat down without another word.

Thace was oddly cheerful as he got the class discussion going again, and for the most part, Lotor’s little dabble in dark magic was forgotten. Still, Shiro’s unease increased. It made too much sense for Lotor to be interested in dark magic, with magic concerned with ensnaring the soul –he was the son of a Death Eater and a Veela, after all. He found himself watching Lotor throughout class, the way he tapped his quill against his lips as he made notes, the way his eyes seemed to follow Thace’s every move. He seemed to have forgotten Shiro, locked in some kind of hyperconcentration on whatever Thace was saying.

They spent that double period wrangling the theory of the content before practicing the act of “identity erasure”, which proved to be just as difficult as Thace had predicted, particularly with the thoughts running through Shiro’s head. Thace, an experienced Legilimens, or mindreader, passed among them, commenting on their performance, which was usually bad. He finally passed by Shiro and gave him a long look.

“Shiro,” he said quietly, so that no one else would hear, “see me after class.”

Shiro became distracted, wondering what Thace could’ve wanted, and for that reason, his performance was abysmal all the way until the end. Finally, class ended, and the class itself emptied, leaving only Shiro and Thace inside.

Shiro approached the professor’s desk. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Thace did not meet Shiro’s eyes as he organized his papers.

“I just meant to tell you that I’ve gotten the okay from Professor Kolivan to tell you this,” he said. “The Blade of Marmora has reason to believe that Death Eaters are using the upcoming Triwizard Tournament to infiltrate Hogwarts. To get to you.”

Shiro straightened. “Has there been any-”

“No incidents,” Thace said. “Not yet, at least. I just want you to be careful. The Tournament is going to have officials, journalists, people from places outside of Hogwarts coming in and out. You have to be vigilant.”

Shiro mulled this over, before lowering his voice. “Do you think it’s –Lotor? From Beauxbatons? Do you think he could be one?”

Thace looked taken aback. “No, not at all,” he said. “He’s only a boy, Shiro. I would never say that about a student.”

“But –the dark magic-” Shiro protested.

“Plenty of people go through phases where they’re interested in dark magic,” Thace said, frowning. “Myself included. I grew out of it. Most people do. It’s not right to throw around accusations like that.”

Shiro scrabbled for an excuse. “But- his dad-”

Thace leaned forward urgently.

“Do _not_ bring up Zarkon de Daibazaal’s past,” he said. “It is a taboo topic. Yes, it is believed he was a former Death Eater, and he was, at some point, convicted for it, but he claimed that he was under the corruption of the _Quintessentio_ curse and therefore not responsible for his actions. He has repented entirely and the Wizengamot itself has ruled him innocent. It is highly unfair to accuse his son –who had been an _infant_ then, at most- of being a Death Eater- not to mention, extremely dangerous.” He paused, hesitating. “Anything could be true. But you have to wait and test the waters, Shiro. Ruffling these people’s feathers comes at a high price, and you are at a dangerously critical part of your life. For your own safety, Shiro, avoid whatever vendetta you have against that family.”

“So we’re just going to wait until something happens?” Shiro protested.

“You’re _going_ to let Professor Kolivan handle it,” Thace said disapprovingly. “I expected better of you. Usually, it’s Keith’s recklessness I have to curb. I never thought it would come to you, too. All because of some petty rivalry with the Daibazaal boy.”

Seeing the usually relaxed Professor Thace become stern with him awakened some kind of guilt in Shiro’s conscience, and he sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. That’s about it, anyway. Take care of yourself, Shiro. You’re dismissed.”

Shiro left, mind still going. He felt like Thace’s conclusions about Lotor were too hasty, too…assured. Thace was convinced that Lotor was too young to be a Death Eater, but hadn’t many of the old Death Eaters joined Voldemort when they’d been in school as well?

It just _didn’t sit well._

\--

Lotor sat in the Great Hall, mind half on his studies, half on other things. For a week now the Goblet of Fire had been sitting in the Great Hall, almost taunting him. Its blue glow reflected itself on the walls, and Lotor was having a harder and harder time ignoring that it was there.

It was expected of him to put his name in. Publicly, so word of it would reach his father and he’d get off his case. Yet Lotor still kept putting it off; for some reason he could not discern. It just never felt like it was quite the right time.

Lunch hour began, and with it came a wave of students from all years and classes, filling up the Great Hall’s benches. Lotor paid them little mind, tuning them out and continuing to read his book. Most students passed him without a second glance. His fellow Beauxbatons students had taken to avoiding him ever since the Incident; so much that they may have even forgotten he was there.

Eventually, Allura came down to sit next to him, greeting him and launching into a recount of her day, which Lotor mostly responded to you with nods and appreciative hums. She was doing well in Hogwarts, making lots of friends and excelling in classes; Lotor knew she would make a much better Beauxbatons champion than him.

In the middle of her speech, Allura cut herself off.

“Oh, look, there’s my friend Acxa,” she commented easily, pointing across the hall. Lotor followed her finger where it pointed to the doors, where Acxa, accompanied by the Shirogane boy and his hot-tempered sidekick, had finally entered. Together the three made their way through the hall until they sat at the Gryffindor table, right behind the Ravenclaws’.

“Unfortunate company she keeps,” Lotor commented.

Shirogane’s distaste for Lotor had been obvious; Lotor had made sure of that. For some reason it was incredibly fun to get a rise out of the usually level-headed boy. Maybe it was the way his eyebrows scrunched up, or the funny little change in the cadence of his voice as he would turn around to complain to whichever of his friends was present. Maybe it was just a reminder that Hogwarts’ golden boy could have imperfections after all.

Acxa’s voice floated to him from behind him. “So, Shiro. Are you going to put your name in, or what?”

“I don’t think so,” Shiro said. “I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime.”

_Don’t do it, Lotor. Pissing Shirogane off isn’t worth it._

“Is that so, Shirogane?” Lotor found himself saying, like a fool. He turned around to face them, plastering his sleaziest smile to his face. Why was he such a glutton for punishment? “I would’ve thought you’d see this as a perfect opportunity.”

The easy expression that had been previously present on Shiro’s face before vanished, replaced by an irritated scowl.

“Perfect opportunity?” Shiro repeated, suspiciously.

“You know. To become the Champion and all,” Lotor said breezily. “I’d heard that the Hogwarts hero was a fan of a little thrill.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” sniped the short one –Keith or whatever. He was practically breathing fire.

“Nothing, nothing,” Lotor said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He could feel Allura’s disapproval radiating in waves, but was having too much fun to stop now. “I was only referring to his famed Quidditch exploits, nothing more. Still, it’s a shame that you’re not competing. We might’ve even competed against each other.”

Lotor reached into his pocket, brandishing the little slip of paper he’d prepared with his name on it. “Oh, well. I suppose you can just watch, for once.”

And with that, Lotor got up from the bench with all the elegance he could, and made his way across the Great Hall, heading towards the Goblet of Fire in the center. The Hall erupted in whispers as people watched him make his way towards it, particularly from the cluster of Beauxbatons students sitting at Ravenclaw. Paying no mind, Lotor slowly got closer and closer. He heard, distantly, the sound of a wooden bench screeching against the floor, and a whispered, “Shiro, no!”

A small smile etched itself on Lotor’s face. So his little game had succeeded.

Just as Lotor reached the Goblet of Fire, he was joined by a panting, breathless Shiro, whose face was in a fearsome scowl. In his hand was a crumpled piece of parchment that looked like it had been torn off of a used essay, _Takashi Shirogane_ hurried scrawled on top.

Lotor was having the time of his life. He couldn’t believe he’d somehow goaded the golden Boy Who Lived into competing with a few juvenile jabs. It was almost too good to be true.

Lotor grinned widely. “It appears I was mistaken about your intent to participate, Shirogane.”

“You’re not special for putting your name in,” Shiro said, extending his hand over the Goblet and dropping the parchment inside its depths. A faint hiss of air followed, and the entire Hall erupted in cheers.

“I suppose you’re the expert on that,” Lotor said easily, dropping his own paper inside, much to the delight of the crowd. The cheers doubled. “I didn’t know you were so easily convinced.”

Shiro’s face dropped as he realized what he had done, before turning uncharacteristically sour. “Whatever. It’s not like I’ll be picked, anyway.”

Lotor only kept smiling. Shiro stormed away, fuming.

 _What an interesting year I’m in for,_ Lotor thought, as he made his way back to the Ravenclaw table, where Allura was waiting to reprimand him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotor's a tiny bit of an asshole, but give him a break, haha -he eats his feelings. More excitement to come! Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos, it really means a lot.
> 
> That being said, please leave comments and kudos, as they are the air fic writers breathe. Sorry for the long wait between updates!


	4. To Be of Age

Shiro paused for a minute behind a pillar, panting slightly. His heart was beating rather quickly. He peeked around the pillar, just enough to see the adjacent hallway in time to witness the blue silk of Lotor’s cape disappear around a corner.

Having taken his cue, Shiro came out from behind the pillar, trying to look as natural as possible, as if he hadn’t been following Lotor around campus for a whole hour. He crept across the hallway, retracing Lotor’s footsteps.

The idea to follow Lotor around Hogwarts during free periods was, objectively, a stupid one. If Lotor caught him, Shiro would look both like a prat and a fool. And if Lotor was actually completely innocent, Shiro would look like an even bigger fool in front of Matt and Acxa, who had wasted no time in telling him that this was one of the most unwise ideas he’d ever had. And if Shiro was right and Lotor really was a Death Eater, then Shiro was putting himself in danger on purpose –exactly what Thace and his grandfather had warned him against.

Yet the suspicion was eating him up. He couldn’t stop thinking about him; about the weird books he read, his reluctance to socialize with others, his strange questions in class. His arrogant attitude, like he knew that he could say anything he wanted and come away unscathed. Shiro wanted to know _more._

 _Because he could be a Death Eater,_ Shiro thought to himself. _Because he could be putting the whole school in jeopardy._

He reached the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner again. Lotor had settled alone at a window seat, reading yet another book out of the Restricted Section, his cat – a bony, mean-spirited creature by the name of Kova- curled up in his lap.

For a few moments, Shiro studied him- the sunlight at his back setting his hair alight, so that he looked like he was encased in a halo. The look of calm, quiet focus in his eyes as he read, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows that never seemed to go away even when he was smiling, the way he leaned forward slightly as he read a particularly interesting passage, white hair spilling over one shoulder, a strand escaping its careful ponytail. He reached up to push it out of his face-

 _What are you doing?_ Shiro thought at himself, furious.

“What the fuck,” he heard Acxa behind him, and spun around. There she was, arms crossed, foot tapping, looking very unimpressed with him. She looked around the corner to where Lotor was sitting.

“I can explain,” Shiro said.

“You look like a creep,” Acxa deadpanned. “He’s _reading._ ”

“A book out of the Restricted Section!”

“Yeah. Because he’s a nerd,” Acxa said. “Honestly, the fact that you even know where the book _came from-”_

“He could be up to anything,” Shiro said. “Something doesn’t sit right.”

Acxa gave him a long, hard look. “I have Arithmancy right now. But after, I’m going to hold an intervention and tell you what this is _really_ about. This has to stop.” And with that, she walked away.

Feeling oddly embarrassed, Shiro sighed. _It’s gonna look stupid if I just start away in the direction I came from,_ he thought. _I might as well bite the bullet and walk by him anyway._

Gathering himself, and trying to look as aloof and unbothered as possible, Shiro walked by, trying his absolute hardest not to look at Lotor. When he passed him, however, he couldn’t help but look.

Lotor was watching him, one eyebrow raised critically. He was onto him.

 _Damn,_ thought Shiro.

* * *

 

Now _really_ wasn’t the time for Shirogane to be stalking him.

He’d done what his father wanted- he’d put his name in the Goblet just as asked. But as always, Zarkon always wanted more.

Now he was bringing up the same old argument they’d been having since Lotor had turned seventeen- one Lotor had been dreading.

“It’s about time you formally joined us,” Zarkon had said last night. “About time you got the Dark Mark. How long must you dawdle, pretending to be a child?”

Lotor had had no response for him, as always. At some point in his early life, he’d learned that saying nothing was the best way to deal with his father’s lectures. He’d settled into his usual habit of fixating on a spot on the floor and tuning out the rumble of his father’s voice, with an occasional nod to show he was still listening.

They’d had to cut the conversation short, as people had arrived, jeopardizing the secrecy of the conversation. Yet Lotor knew –bitter as the realization was- that his father had a point. He could not dawdle forever.

Sooner or later, Lotor was going to have to make his stance clear. The Dark Lord had arisen once more, and he would be gathering followers. Lotor had to join his ranks –or face the consequences.

Except he didn’t _want_ to. He didn’t _want_ to kill- he didn’t want to hurt others, not again. He had no quarrel with Muggleborns and non-wizards. And despite his morbid interest in it, Lotor had no desire to actually _use_ dark magic.

Besides –even if Lotor joined them, he would be a second-class member. A half-wizard. A half _Veela._ Considered vermin by the pureblood community. For the life of him Lotor could not figure out how his father had married a Veela, had had a son that was half-Veela, and yet continued to operate as a Death Eater for all of those years.

Still- Lotor knew, that if he joined the Death Eaters, he’d be protected from their wrath when the time inevitably came. He wouldn’t be touched. He could go on living his life without fear.

Yet he just couldn’t stomach the idea of becoming a murderer, a real murderer- just like his father.

He was of age. He had to make a choice. The clock was ticking.

He just wished Shirogane would get off his case as well.

* * *

 

DADA once more.

Shiro twirled his wand between his fingers- twelve-inch, yew, flexible, phoenix-feather core- and waited as Professor Thace read out the pairs for dueling practice. Given that NEWTs encompassed all of the material ever put in Defense Against the Dark Arts curricula, NEWT-level classes usually involved practice of old material as well as the new. Hence dueling practice.

“And, finally, Takashi Shirogane, and Lotor de Daibazaal,” Thace said, with a pointed look in Shiro’s direction. Shiro almost opened his mouth in protest. This was an easy chance for Lotor to do whatever he wanted to him! And yet Thace seemed to be challenging that.

Shiro looked across the room to where Lotor was leaning against the wall, looking undisturbed by his assignment, boredly tapping his wand against his thigh. His eyes slid to Shiro, as if daring him to say anything.

“And, need I remind you, no dark magic allowed,” Thace said. “The list of banned curses is written on the board. Also, Keith, please don’t set my classroom on fire again.”

“Yes, sir.” The class tittered.

“Alright. First pair- begin.”

Shiro hung at the back of the class as the dueling began. He and Keith exchanged a worried look as the class rang with curses. Shiro’s mind raced. Lotor wouldn’t try anything, right? Not here, right under Thace’s nose.

 _He could try to humiliate you, though,_ he thought.

The pairs continued to face each other, each facing each other for a total of five or six minutes before one was ultimately K.O’ed or until Thace put a stop to it. Eventually, it was Shiro and Lotor’s turn. Both of them stepped up to the long platform Thace had set up, the class whispering in hushed tones. Shiro tried to tune them out, to focus on whatever bullshittery Lotor would do to try and embarrass him in front of everyone else. He seemed to get a kick out of that, at least.

“Alright,” said Thace, stepping in between them. “You have five minutes. Grades will be awarded for creativity, quick response, and, of course, damage. No permanent injuries allowed.” He stepped down from the platform. “Begin!”

Lotor and Shiro moved like lightning. At the exact same moment Shiro yelled “ _Expelliarmus!”_ Lotor yelled “ _Bombarda!”,_ filling the classroom with smoke. Coughing, Shiro could faintly hear Lotor scrabbling for his wand, and rushed forwards, about to strike- only to just barely dodge a Stunning Spell headed straight for him –Lotor hadn’t lost his wand at all, and made those sounds on purpose.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ came Lotor’s voice through the smoke, and Shiro ducked again out of the way.

He launched another _Expelliarmus_ in Lotor’s direction as the smoke began to clear, but it had evidently not worked, as Lotor’s form became visible.

“You move too much,” he said, smirking as he pointed his wand at Shiro’s feet. “ _Colloshoo!_ ”

Shiro tried to get up, to fight Lotor off, but his shoes had been stuck to the ground, rendering him immobile. Lotor swung his wand again, about to strike, and Shiro performed the first spell that came to mind-

“ _Incendio!”_ he yelled, pointing his wand at Lotor’s legs. The cuffs of his pants burst into the flames, eliciting a string of curses from his opponent’s mouth. He ridiculously hopped first on one foot, then the other, trying to bat the flames off, and Shiro saw his opportunity and pointed his wand-

Lotor saw and pointed his at the same time-

“ _EXPELLIARMUS!”_ they both shouted at the same time, and their wands went flying in opposite directions. The duel was over. Lotor’s pants were still on fire.

The class watched in stunned silence, some of them still coughing. Thace climbed up to the platform.

“ _Finite Incantatum,”_ he said, pointing his wand at Lotor, whose pants immediately extinguished themselves, hanging in sooty tatters.

“ _Finite Incantatum,”_ he said to Shiro as well, who finally got up. He cast a venomous look at Lotor, who looked like he wanted to skin him alive.

“I’m disappointed,” Professor Thace sighed. “I expected better. Your dueling was messy, uncoordinated, and clumsy. You both seemed to prioritize _showing off_ over actually having an efficient match.” He gave both of them unhappy looks. “I’m deducting grades.”

Lotor mumbled something mutinous. Thace gave him a scathing look. “What was that, Mr. de Daibazaal?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Both of you, think about your mistakes. Class dismissed.”

 Lotor and Shiro glared at each other one last time before descending from the platform and joining their respective friends.

* * *

 

Shiro kept his distance as he followed Lotor down yet another hallway, this time as the latter boy made his way towards the Great Hall. Shiro had forgotten that today was the day the Goblet of Fire would choose its champions. Inexplicably, he felt an oncoming wave of dread, despite his knowledge that the odds were steep that Shiro would be chosen at all.

For the past week, he’d been following Lotor around as subtly as possible. Admittedly, he had…nothing as justification for it. Lotor was either with Allura somewhere in the Great Lawn, or he just sat somewhere alone and secluded and read a book. Generally, he spent his time alone, and did nothing suspicious.

He’d noticed that none of his fellow Beauxbatons classmates, save for Allura, actually interacted with him; they simply skirted around him like he was the plague, or ignored his presence entirely, for reasons unknown. Hogwarts and Durmstrang students didn’t much like him either, in fact.

He’d found out that that was because of strange rumors –whispers of experiments in dark magic, mostly. Lots of rumors about a classmate he’d supposedly outright _murdered_ with it.

Shiro was…strangely ambivalent about the latter rumor. On one hand, he did not think Lotor was above any depravity. On the other hand, they were what they were –rumors. He couldn’t exactly count on them, and he couldn’t exactly go around asking about it either. Besides, it made no sense. There was no way Lotor would still be enrolled in a school if he’d done something that bad, even if his father _was_ headmaster.

Shiro knew what it was like to be the subject of rumors. He wasn’t going to fall into that trap- not without evidence. And so, he found himself following him down the corridors, all the way to the Great Hall. He then headed straight for the Gryffindor table, while Lotor went to Ravenclaw.

“Good, dinner isn’t over yet,” Shiro said, settling down. Matt and Acxa regarded him with deep disapproval. “What?”

“You gotta let the de Daibazaal kid go, Shiro.”

Shiro’s face turned stony. “I’m not having this conversation again.”

“I’m with Shiro on this,” Keith said. “Something’s freaky about that guy.”

Acxa rolled her eyes, then jumped as the Great Hall’s lights suddenly darkened. “Ah, the Choosing’s begun!”

Professor Kolivan stepped up to the podium. “My students and guests,” he boomed. “The time has finally come for the Goblet of Fire to choose its champions. Please, come to order.”

He waited a moment or two for the Hall to settle down. He then turned to the Goblet, whose flames had turned a white-blue, climbing above the rim of the cup and bathing the Hall in blue light.

“From Durmstrang Institute,” said Kolivan, as a roll of paper emerged from the Goblet and floated into his hand, “Sendak Radostev!”

Uproarious applause arose from the Slytherin table as a large, hulking seventh year stood up and stood for a moment, receiving the cheers. He was the same student with the eyepatch that had glared at Shiro so intensely on the day of the arrival. As he made his way towards the podium, his eye caught Shiro’s again, and he snarled almost imperceptibly, before shaking hands with Professor Ladnok and going with her to the next room.

Shiro felt a shiver run down his spine. Why did so many people have these weird grudges against him?

 Kolivan settled the Hall down. “Now. From Beauxbatons Academy,” he said, unrolling the paper, “Lotor de Daibazaal.”

“ _WHAT?”_ Keith said loudly, but it was drowned out by the applause –which was, admittedly, not as strong as it had been with Sendak. Shiro couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. _Lotor_ was the Beauxbatons champion?

Shiro looked over to the Ravenclaw table. The Beauxbatons students didn’t look very happy –some of them looked downright insulted –whereas Allura was clapping enthusiastically. Lotor himself didn’t look too thrilled, before plastering a smug smile onto his face and standing up. Again, he caught Shiro’s eyes and waved mockingly before ascending to the podium, shaking hands with his father, and going where Sendak and Ladnok had gone.

“And finally, from Hogwarts School,” said Kolivan. His face darkened as he read the paper, and Shiro felt a sinking feeling in his gut just as Kolivan said the name. “Takashi Shirogane.”

The Hall _exploded._ People were going downright feral with excitement. “Holy _shit,_ Shiro-” said Matt, and Keith was pounding on his back in congratulations, but Shiro’s head was spinning-

_No, no, no, no, no, no-_

There went his promise to his grandfather. Thace was going to _kill him._ Gulping, Shiro got up, tried to look confident, and walked across the Hall to shake hands with Kolivan, who looked dangerously frustrated. Together, the two went to the next room, where the two other champions were waiting.

Inside, the champions and their teachers were conferring quietly. As soon as he saw him, Lotor burst out laughing. Zarkon merely watched them, cold light in his amber eyes. Sendak glared, and Ladnok ignored him. Meanwhile, Thace flew across the room to him, grabbing the front of his robes.

“Shiro,” Thace said, with an air of forced calm. “Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”

“…Yes.”

Thace sighed frustratedly and rubbed his forehead, turning away. “We talked about this, Shiro!”

Shiro felt the cold shame of Thace’s disappointment in him, and looked away. Deep down, he knew it was his fault, and yet-

“Well, well,” Lotor purred, sidling up to him as the teachers made quiet conversation and Sendak hung back at the end of the room, glaring. “It seems the Goblet of Fire loves you almost as much as the rest of the world does, Shirogane. You do seem to have a knack for the dramatic.”

“Be quiet,” Shiro snarled. “It’s all your fault I’m in this mess in the first place-”

“My fault?” Lotor faked surprise. “Why, Shirogane, it’s your own fault for rising to my bait. I’d have thought the Boy Who Lived would be a bit more mature- able to take a simple joke- but I guess I –like many others-” he nodded towards Thace and Kolivan,“-was sadly mistaken.”

Shiro was silent, unable to formulate a retort. After all, Lotor was right.

“Besides,” Lotor drawled. “I didn’t take you to be so _afraid_ of a little friendly competition. Perhaps you fear losing… to me, or to that oversized buffoon over there. Anything’s possible. Or, perhaps…” he smiled deviously. “you’re afraid of _other_ things.”

Was that a _threat?_ So he was a Death Eater after all! The conversation was low enough that nobody else could hear. Shiro made a fist.

“Why, you-”

“Champions!” said Kolivan. “Gather round to receive instructions on your first Task.” His eyes lingered on Shiro, filled with apprehension.

“The First Task is designed to test your daring, and your creativity, so we shall not be disclosing what it is. Creativity blooms best under adversity. The task will take place on November the twenty fourth, in front of all of the other students. You are not to accept help of any kind from teachers or outside sources. A discovery of cheating will disqualify you immediately. You will face this challenge armed only with your wands. After the first task is over, you will receive information on the second task. Owing to the exhausting and time-consuming nature of this Tournament, you are exempt from end-of-year exams.” He paused, and then unceremoniously said, “That is all. You are dismissed.”

The room dispersed. Still smiling his snakelike smile, Lotor left the room first, accompanied by his father. After that, Ladnok and Sendak left as well, speaking quietly in Bulgarian. Finally, Shiro was left alone with Thace and Kolivan, much to his dismay.

Kolivan spoke first. “I suppose there is no use crying over spilled milk,” he said. “Whether we like it or not, you are now an active participant in the Tournament. What is left to say now is to warn you, once more, to prioritize your own safety above all else.”

“Even if it means losing the Tournament, Shiro,” Thace said urgently. “You _must_ stay safe. Both for your own sake, and everyone else’s.” He lowered his voice. “We’ve told you last year, remember- you are the key to defeating-” he cut himself off and gathered himself- “Lord Voldemort.”

Shiro was well aware of this.

“Now go up to bed,” Kolivan said. “You need your rest for what is to come.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you that it was slow-burn. Please leave comments or kudos, as they are the energy that pushes this fic forward! Thanks to all who did so before!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos, they fuel me to live (and write).  
> This is for Maria, who's cheered me up many a time with our late-night shotor au generation.


End file.
